


When the Bough Breaks

by thesloaneranger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After DH, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Golden Trio, The Golden Trio Era, everyone is a little fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesloaneranger/pseuds/thesloaneranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes, to heal properly, a bone must be re-broken." </p><p>They figured it was time they knew what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been doing for the past year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Bough Breaks

In the months since the Final Battle, the Wizarding World had seen little of their heroes.

The three, who the press had dubbed the ‘Golden Trio’, had been present at numerous funerals and memorials in the beginning, always pressed tightly together and rarely engaging in conversation, but now, as July bled into August, even that minuscule contact had been cut off. 

The Weasleys, of course, knew where they were but that did little to ease their worries. 

Ginny stormed into the Burrow’s kitchen, eyes blazing. “I couldn’t even get in!”

Molly looked up from the counter, instantly alert. “What do you mean, dear?”

“Hermione must have done something; I couldn’t even see the house!”

Arthur set down his paper. “Now, why would she have done that?”

“I don’t know!” cried Ginny. She threw herself into a chair. “I just…” she paused and took a shaky breath. “I’m worried. What if something goes wrong and we can’t help them? What if something happened to one of us? Did they ever think of that?  
Her voice shrank and she pulled her knees in towards her chest. “Didn’t they know how much this would hurt?”

Arthur sighed as he watched his wife stiffen. He grasped Ginny’s hand on the tabletop and tried, unsuccessfully, to think of something to say.  
He had run out of reassurances long ago. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

They’re all over me, Minerva. They want answers; answers I don’t have.” The large man by the fireplace cradled his head in his hands. 

Minerva patted his shoulder consolingly. “We knew that would be the case Kingsley. You should have expected it.” She made a gesture that on someone less stately would have been classified as a shrug. “Everyone wants to know how they did it, and naturally, as Minister, they think you are privy to that knowledge.”

“But I’m not!”

Minerva barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes; he sounded like a petulant child. “Well, then ask them. Molly says they’re at Grimmauld Place—”

“I’ve already tried that. Miss Granger’s done a new Fideleus charm.”

Minerva watched as he rubbed her eyes with the heels of his hands. “Kingsley, listen to me, you’re doing yourself no favours by acting like this. When was the last time you slept? You need rest.”

“But Minerva—”

“No buts. You may be the Minister of Magic, but I am headmistress, and seeing as we are at Hogwarts, I win.” She smiled thinly, nearly as exhausted as him. “Go use the Headboy’s dormitory. I trust you remember the password?”

Kingsley nodded. Minerva waved him out. 

As soon as the door snapped shut behind him, she sat down heavily and closed her eyes. “What am I going to do with those three?”

Dumbledore’s portrait chuckled. 

Minerva took a sharp breath through her nose. “Albus, if you have something to say, please share it with the class.”

The man didn’t even have the grace to look abashed. “I’m sorry, Minerva, but how many times in the past seven years have you said that? It just makes one think, you know…”

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “Just because you’re a portrait does not mean your only job is to aggravate me. Now, are you going to make yourself useful and help me make a plan, or are you just going to be a nuisance?”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“I’m worried about them.”

Neville, who was up to his elbows in manure and had just had one of his eyebrows singed by a partition of Incendiary Ivy, was uncertain of what Luna meant, and frankly, rather unsure she was even talking to him.  
“A-about the plimpies?”

Luna shook her head so hard that he could hear her butterbeer cork necklace jingling beneath her shirt. “No, the plimpies will sort themselves out; they breed rather like Urcrainels, you know.” She didn’t seem to notice that Neville wasn’t following. “I meant about Hermione, Ron, and Harry.” 

“Oh.” Neville pulled his hands out of the pot and wiped them carefully on his apron. “Me too,” he said. “I hope they’re okay.”

It was several long moments before Luna spoke next and when she did, he knew she was not looking at the scar on his cheek like everyone else seemed to these days.  
“Neville, I think it will be a long time before any of us are okay.”

The uncharacteristic chill in her voice made him shiver. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In Grimmauld Place, life was different from anywhere else.

Hermione knew that rationally, things couldn’t stay like this.  
That eventually they would have to rejoin the world and face the reality of all that they had done, and worse – all that they had failed to do. For know, though, she was quite happy to be able to lay in the same room as her best friends and be carried off to sleep by the familiar lullaby of their breathing.  
It made her feel as if she was thirteen again and they had all fallen asleep on the couch in the common room. It made her feel as if everything that had happened after that had simply been a dream. 

Ron thought that this staying in one place business was the best thing that had ever happened to him.  
Here, he had Harry to play chess with, Kreacher to cook and clean for him, Hermione to softly read books aloud to them by the fire. It was practically normal. Here he didn’t have to watch his mother break down every time someone stumbled over Fred’s name, didn’t have to see his father growing paler and more lined everyday, didn’t have to witness George’s pain at being halved or hear the way his sentences hung in the air, unfinished.  
No, this was good enough. This was almost perfect. 

Harry wanted to stay here forever.  
Yes, he thought distantly, he had missed Ginny, and yes, he realized sooner or later she was going to stop waiting for him. But maybe it was the right thing to do; after all, it was his fault her brother was dead.  
His fault that everyone was dead.  
His fault.  
Maybe the world was better off with him out of the way. He has done his job, fulfilled his destiny. Maybe now all he had to do was sit back with Ron and Hermione and embrace the quiet.  
Maybe this was, more-or-less, his happily ever after. 

 

It started with a letter. An official, important looking one. 

Kreacher had given it to Harry that morning at breakfast. That in itself was odd enough, but that fact that it was a summons of all things, and addressed to all three of them, made it even more strange. And it made them nervous. 

They didn’t want to leave. 

Here they didn’t have to worry.  
Here it was okay that Ron couldn’t sleep without touching both Harry and Hermione.  
Here it was okay that Hermione sometimes forgot to eat.  
Here it was okay that Harry didn’t speak for days at a time.  
Here it didn’t matter that they flinched at loud noises, or had nightmares, or couldn’t quite manage to mourn, because it was simply the way of life now and they made it work.  
They didn’t know what was waiting out there anymore. Their retreat had been total. 

Hermione was unready for the brilliance of the sunlight as she walked outside. It blinded her and for the twenty seven seconds she could not see, she was petrified.  
Her heart raced, her palms sweated, and when it was over, she realized she had grasped Ron and Harry’s forearms so hard that bruises were already forming.

She apparated them all to the gates of Hogwarts and after ten minutes when no one met them, they entered by themselves. Hermione stood in the middle, firmly clasping Ron’s hand on one side and her other arm tightly encircling Harry’s waist. It was at her prompting that together they took their first shaky steps.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Here they come!” roared Hagrid, clearly relieved. He had been watching for them for the past quarter of an hour. 

Everyone swarmed the windows and peered into the grounds, trying to catch a glimpse.

“But—” Arthur was confused, “But why are they stopping? Why—” But before he could finish his question, the figure in the middle slowly fell to their knees.

Ginny gasped. “It's Hermione.”

Molly was frantic. “But what’s happening, what’s going on?” There were tears in her eyes, and she batted them away impatiently. “We have to go down there and find—”

“No.” Minerva interrupted. “Give them time.”

Molly grimaced and tried to control her breathing. Professor Flitwick looked uneasy. “Are you quite sure?”

Minerva nodded at him. “Just leave them be for a moment,” she said. “For what we’re about to ask…” she sighed. “Just leave them be.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Hermione wasn’t crying.  
Her throat felt as if she has swallowed a razor blade and the pressure of it all was suffocating her, yet her eyes were dry. She wanted to cry – badly – but the tears just wouldn’t come. 

Funny, she thought, you’d think that after years of crying over nothing I’d be able to now.

Then the strangest thing happened.  
A little yellow butterfly fluttered past her face and out of the blue she was taken back to that night. 

All around her deadly jets of light were being flung; deafening cries, unhinged laughter, and the familiar low keening from her dreams filled her ears. Oh, god.  
The sickly, salty smell of fear and blood surrounded her. Oh, god, please.  
She saw it. Not ten yards from where she stood – Remus, already fallen in a heap. A disbelieving Tonks stumbling towards him, her agony palpable. Yelling, sobbing, pulling at his shirt, shaking him, trying the impossible. And then him, stepping from the haze of battle, already laughing.  
Tonks looking up, tears streaming. Words were shouted that Hermione could not understand. Why was Tonks not standing? Where was her wand? Where? He stepped closer. Oh, god, please no, please don’t. Oh, god.  
It was just another green flash, but it felt brighter and somehow sharper than the others, as if it cut. Tonks. Unmoving. No, god, please.

Tears blinding her as she ran. Ran towards the tall, twisted man who stood and spat on his niece’s body before kicking her husband’s. Her wand moved her hand, her body seeming to react on its own accord. She could hear nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing, fear nothing. Two friends, still and small in death, lying on the battlefield were all that mattered. 

“Oh, god, please don’t”

There was another flash of light and absolutely no regret. She didn’t stay to watch as he fell. Tonks’ hand clasped Remus’ tightly through it all. 

And then, Hermione cried. 

 

When Hermione sank to her knees beside him, Ron nearly had a heart attack.

Thoughts of Death Eaters and deadly non-verbal curses filled his mind, and he spun, wand poised for attack, cursing that they had ever left sanctuary.  
But then he saw that she was crying. He didn’t know what to do, had never really known what to do when she cried. 

Should he hoist her back up to her feet and hurry her along? Should he put his arm around her and say something? 

No, he thought forcefully, No. It would be awful and awkward and unwelcome and he couldn’t do that to her, not now. 

He would stand guard so that she could break in peace, like she had for him. He would be there, standing tall, should Harry become undone as well. It was the least he could do.  
He owed them both so much more. 

 

Harry thought Hermione was laughing. 

Her sudden fall had completely bewildered him, startled him so badly that all his muscles had tensed and caused cramping throughout his body. But why was she laughing? What was so bloody funny that –Oh.  
Oh.  
It wasn’t mirth that was causing her thin shoulders to shake.  
Oh.  
He couldn’t help it; he looked away. 

And there, in the distance, clearly visible in the morning fog, was the marble tomb. The marble tomb with the jagged black line down the middle where someone had tried to fit the two pieces back together.  
Like so many other things, it would never be the same again. 

Suddenly, he wished that he could cry as well. He hadn’t been able to, not yet. He felt rather as if the tears had somehow solidified inside him, had turned into stones that slipped into his stomach, weighing him down so that every step took more effort than the last.

 

In that moment they were entirely separate. Separate in a way that was different than ever before. Separate in a way that no one, not even them, could ever really put into words.  
Sometimes, to heal properly, a bone must be re-broken. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It was incredibly sad, thought Arthur.  
That they could look so alone even with their best friends standing only inches away. All three were gazing in different directions. They seemed out of touch somehow. They seemed like they weren’t quite real. Almost as if he was looking upon a mirage instead of three people he knew. Three people he loved. 

He glanced at Molly. She had that worried look about her, the one that made his stomach twist in knots. Something bad was going to happen, that’s what that look meant.  
When the fire roared in the grate behind him, he was not the only one who jumped, nor was he the only one who drew his wand.  
He was, however, one of the few who recognized the people standing on either side of Kingsley. 

At nearly six feet tall, Ian Granger was not a small man. But standing there in the fireplace he looked positively diminutive. His wife, on the other hand, seemed to take up more space than Ian and Kingsley combined. She stepped from the hearth immediately, her eyes flashing in a way that was very familiar to anyone who knew Hermione Granger. 

“Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger,” began Minerva. “Welcome to Hog—”

“Where is she?” Mrs. Granger’s voice was shaking. “Where is my daughter? I demand to see her at once.”

“Michelle…” Ian tried to put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shook it off. 

“No, Ian.” She tossed her head, looking around the office, searching for Hermione. “Where is she?”

Minerva tried to speak calmly. “Mrs. Granger, Hermione is on her way. Why don’t you join us for a cup of tea?”

“No thank you, I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for tea, what with just waking up from a spell that rid me of all my memories and the fact that I have a daughter – A daughter, who as I’ve been told, is some sort of hero of some bloody war in this stupid bloody alternate world that I had NO BLOODY IDEA WAS EVEN HAPPENING!” She paused, chest heaving, “So, no. I would not like a cup of tea.”  
She hurled herself into a chair and crossed her arms and legs tightly, scowling.  
All Ginny could think was how like Hermione Mrs.Granger was, right down to the way she bit her lip to keep from crying. 

Ian Granger was very embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “It’s been a very… trying day for us. If you don’t mind, could you please tell us when you expect Hermione to get here?" He looked at his wife. For all her anger, he could see how close she was to breaking down. “We have quite a few questions for her.”

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Yes, of course. Hermione is currently in the grounds, they should be up in a moment.”

Ian nodded his head in gratitude. He supposed ‘they’ meant Hermione and the two friends he remembered she spoke of constantly, Ron and Harry. “Thank you,” he said as he sat beside his wife.

“Everything will sort itself out,” said the woman near the window, speaking to him but looking in the opposite direction.

She was Hermione’s friends’ mother, he was almost sure of it. She was familiar in a way that made him feel as if they had met before. He thought her name was something like Martha…  
Her words her reassuring enough, but the quaver in her voice made him feel as if she wasn’t sure herself. 

“It has to.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione swallowed harshly and struggled to her feet. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the tears to end and roughly quelled the rush of memories. The old curse scar across her chest was acting up; it made her ribs ache. 

Ron turned and smiled sadly. Hermione wound her fingers through his, comforted by his eyes, the exact colour of a well-worn and loved pair of blue jeans. She tried to return the smile. 

Ron reached forward and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, holding her gaze for a long moment. Eventually he nodded, steeled himself and took Harry’s hand as well, pulling him forward out of his thoughts. 

“Come on,” he said lightly, “Mum’s probably pitching a fit up there. We shouldn’t keep her from shouting about how skinny we are any longer.”

 

Inside the castle, was, if possible, worse than the grounds. Everywhere she looked Hermione pictured crumbling walls, burning portraits, and crumpled bodies. She could pinpoint, with mathematical accuracy, just where she had been standing when she had witnessed any number of horrors, and as she trod there now, she could help but re-live them over and over. She knew, therefore, exactly where they were and the reason why when Ron went deathly pale and his hands started to shake. 

Ron broke free of their grasp and stepped forward, placing his hands gently on the ancient stone. “They… rebuilt it?”

Harry could see it all happening again. The wall exploding. Fred falling. Percy screaming. 

Ron turned sharply, wildly. “They just rebuilt it,” he laughed incredulously, “Like nothing ever happened.”

It was wrong, thought Harry fiercely, wrong that this wall stood where Fred had fallen. How could they make it like nothing had ever happened? He couldn’t bear the thought of thousands of students thundering by each day not knowing or caring. He pushed forward purposely, and raised his wand. Had it really only been a few months since he had performed this same charm for Dobby? 

His arm shook and the charm faltered.  
Dobby. Fred. Countless others. He would have carved their names into every inch of this castle if he could. It was all his fault. They had deserved so, so much more.

Hermione saw Harry’s magic faltering. She raised her wand and willed her own charm to join his, strengthening it. 

F. WEASLEY, it read, MISCHIEF MANAGED. 

It was not neat, it was not straight. It was, however, deep enough that nothing would ever be able to fade it. 

The old, familiar pressure was building behind her eyes. The lump in her throat made it hard to breathe. To her left, Harry was panting; exhausted by the effort it took to beat Hogwarts’ ancient wards and struggling in his own way to deal with his pain. To her right, Ron was clenching and unclenching his fists as tears ran down his long nose. 

She took their hands again. Silently and simultaneously they turned and set off once more. 

This too shall pass, she repeated to herself with every step. It won’t always be this way. This too shall pass. 

 

The gargoyle let them through without a word and they climbed the stairs slowly, so they wouldn’t have to relinquish their grips. The heavy door before them looked foreboding. 

“Is it too late to turn around?” asked Harry weakly, face going pale.

“Yeah,” whispered Ron, “we could just send them a letter or something, right?”

Hermione was sorely tempted. Would it be that bad? She wondered. Would it be that bad to just stay in Grimmauld Place for a little while longer? They weren’t ready; she certainly wasn’t ready to face anybody. But they had come this far. 

“No,” she said firmly, “we’re here now. We should see what they want.” At the looks on Ron and Harry’s faces she nearly gave in. “We should hear what they have to say. After that, we’ll go back and Kreacher can make us supper and we’ll sleep for a week, okay?”  
She was heartened by their smiles, even if they didn’t quite reach their eyes. She squeezed their hands. “We’ll be fine.” She didn’t know if she was talking to them or to herself. She realized it didn’t matter. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

Harry raised his hand and knocked.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The knock on the door stilled all conversation in the room immediately. Kingsley caught Minerva’s eye, waiting for her nod before opening the door. And there, on the threshold, stood her three lions, the ones who had saved them all. 

Molly promptly burst into tears and rushed forward, pulling them as one to her tightly.

Minerva did not miss the way Hermione’s hand instinctively twitched towards her wand, how Ron stiffened, or the sheer panic in Harry’s eyes. As she glanced around and saw Filius’ and Pomona’s worried looks she gathered she was not the only one. 

Mrs. Weasley’s sudden dash forward had scared Hermione and she hated herself for it. Stupid, she scolded, she wasn’t going to hurt you. Her traitorous heart beat wildly nonetheless. She hoped Mrs. Weasley couldn’t feel it’s thunderous pace. 

And then something miraculous happened. Mrs. Weasley shifted and over her shoulder Hermione saw two people she had thought she would never see again. Her arms dropped. 

“D-daddy?”

At Hermione’s startled words, Harry and Ron’s attention was immediately focused on the figures across the room. 

There were tears in Hermione’s eyes. “Mum?”

 

Ian stood, paralyzed at the sudden appearance of his only child. His Hermione, she had finally come home.  
Except she didn’t quite look like his Hermione, not the one he remembered; her hair was too long, her skin too pale, the skin under her eyes too dark. She was far too thin, seemed far too old, far too haunted. 

Where was the happy eleven-year-old he had placed on the train?  
Where was the excitable six-year-old proudly receiving her first library card?  
Where was the baby so tiny she could be cradled in the palms of his hands?  
His breath caught. 

And then she bit her lip, worrying the bottom one between perfect, white teeth, a habit nearly as old as she was.  
He could breathe again. 

“Hermione” he stumbled forward, arms longing to hold onto her, wanting so desperately to do what he should have done seven years earlier and never let her go. 

Hermione collided with her father, instantly burying her face in his chest as she had done so often before, dizzyingly, irrationally happy to find that after all this time he still smelled of sandalwood and mint, of home. 

When they broke apart, they both had tears streaming down their faces. Hermione turned and sought another gaze, her arms lifting hopefully. “Mum?” 

Michelle Granger seemed to be fighting a battle within herself. A white knuckled fist was pressed tightly to her lips, desperately trying to keep the sobs from escaping as she watched her husband and daughter. When Hermione turned to her, she was immediately drawn to her across the room, as if by magnetic force. 

She looked deep into her daughter’s deep brown eyes, so like her husband’s, and slapped her in the face. 

The room was still, as if the very air they breathed had been sucked from it. 

“How dare you?” her voice was quiet, but the quiver in it was clearly audible. “How could you?” 

“I-“ Hermione was stunned; her mother had never struck her before, had never struck anybody, as far as she knew. 

“Our memories, Hermione? Our memories? We didn’t even remember that we had a daughter,” she was crying freely now, struggling to get the words out. “We wouldn’t have known if you’d been hurt, if you’d di—” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish. 

Hermione simply looked at her. She didn’t hang her head. She didn’t protest. She just stood, staring back at her mother. 

“What were you thinking? What gave you the right to do that to us? Hermione, you were all we ever wanted, ever needed. You knew that, and you took that from us.”

“I had to protect you.”

“Protect us?” Michelle’s voice was rising now, her anger coming back full force. “Protect us? We already had every protection your ‘Order’ could give to us! We already had rules upon rules for everyday living! And protect us from what? Because you’ve never taken the time to explain to us just exactly what you felt you needed to save us from. Did you think we were so weak that we couldn’t handle it? That we couldn’t be trusted with the secret? Tell me, Hermione, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t tell you!” Hermione yelled, the air around her crackled with electricity.  
“I could never tell you, you wouldn’t have let me come back. You would have kept me home, where I would have been safe. You wouldn’t have understood! This was my choice! It was my purpose! They needed me! They wanted me! And I—“ her voice broke, “ I couldn’t loose them. I had to do it; it was the only way to keep you safe. I couldn’t let you be hurt because of me! I had to protect you!”

“Protect us from what?”

Something in Hermione snapped.

She raised her arm and pulled back the sleeve roughly, exposing the torn, ruined flesh there. Her voice was unlike her own. “From this! This is what they did to me, because of who I am. Because of where I come from. To them, I am nothing. To them, you and Daddy, you’re even less than nothing. The things they do…” all the fight seemed to go out of her. She shrank back into herself, ashamed of her outburst. “The things they would do to you…” 

Michelle moved forward and gathered her daughter in her arms. Ian, in turn, pulled them both to his chest.  
There in the middle of the headmasters’ office, with the small crowd looking on, the Grangers slowly began to put themselves back together. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

They had been all together for not even five minutes and already Kingsley felt as if the situation was out of his hands.  
He had not known what to do when Mrs. Granger had struck her daughter, had not known where to look when the small family had sunk to the floor and cried. He cast around helplessly, looking for some sort of inspiration on how to proceed and instead landed on the two boys, two men, still standing in the doorway.  
He did not miss how Ron, although he held his mother on one side, could not tear his eyes off of Hermione, or how Harry, although he tried to provide Mrs. Weasley with a small smile, kept his hand in his pocket, fingering his wand nervously. He also did not miss that when the Grangers stood, Hermione automatically drifted back to her friends in spite of being reunited with her family.  
He caught Minerva’s gaze and shrugged slightly, indicating that she should be the one to take over. He may be the Minister of Magic, he thought, but he knew when he was out of his depth. 

When Hermione took her place between the two boys, everybody in the room could sense the shift, could see how much more relaxed they all became. 

“Please,” began Minerva, gesturing to the couch in the corner, “have a seat.” Her chest tightened as she watched the three friends have an entire conversation in exchanged looks before accepting her offer. She waited until they settled before taking a breath and starting to speak.

**Author's Note:**

> Revamped and cross-posted from my old account at FF.net. I'm gonna stick with it this time if there's interest. Let me know if you think I should!


End file.
